


The Long Way

by LeannieBananie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Western, F/M, Mail Order Brides, Marriage of Convenience, Slow Burn, eventual love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-01-20 12:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12433197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeannieBananie/pseuds/LeannieBananie
Summary: "The shrill blast of the trains horn and the squeal of brakes startled her from her uncertain thoughts, making her hand tighten into an abrupt fist around the letter it held. Twisting to the window she could see plain buildings jutting against the sky and hear the conductor calling out her stop. Gripping her bag tightly and tucking the letter into the pocket of her cloak, Sansa stood, shaking out her skirts briskly and readjusting her hat before exiting the car. She paused on the steps, nerves washing through her again as she shaded her eyes with her hand, scanning the crowd for the unknown man who was to be her husband."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tossing this out here because it's just rotting on my computer. Let me know what you think, because I don't know what I think about it or what I'm doing. I just love some SanSan.
> 
> Kudos and comments make writers keep writing. So do the thing. And holler if you see any mistakes, I'll probably fix them.
> 
> *Title from Brett Eldredge's song The Long Way, because it inspired me to start picking at this again.*

She peered nervously out the grimy train window, impatiently brushing aside several wayward strands of red hair that fell across her forehead. The carpet bag at her feet held what worldly possessions she had left; the rest being sold off to pay her family’s debts. In her hands, she clutched a well-worn letter, not old, but read and reread so many times that it was quite battered and creased. 

Opening it again, Sansa smoothed her hand over the brief missive, fingers pausing over his name. _Sandor Clegane_. An odd name, but strong sounding. She also knew he was 32 years old and that he owned a small ranch, raising horses for both the livery and the stagecoach service that ran from town. He offered no other personal details, nothing about his appearance or his family or his likes and dislikes. His last letter had merely enclosed her ticket and a quick note: _I’ll be waiting for you._

Sansa on the other hand, had peppered her letters with a plethora of intimate details. Since her very first letter answering his advertisement in the local Winterfell paper, _North Winds_ , she had written about almost every aspect of her life. Her appearance, age, hair color, her unfortunate height, even including gossipy tidbits about her customers from her old job at the tea room. Her lengthy letters weren’t often answered and when he did, he kept things business like. It worried her, because it made her realize she didn’t really know anything about Sandor Clegane, but here she was on a train traveling to him and planning to marry him once she got there. 

The shrill blast of the trains horn and the squeal of brakes startled her from her uncertain thoughts, making her hand tighten into an abrupt fist around the letter it held. Twisting to the window she could see plain buildings jutting against the sky and hear the conductor calling out her stop. Gripping her bag tightly and tucking the letter into the pocket of her cloak, Sansa stood, shaking out her skirts briskly and readjusting her hat before exiting the car. She paused on the steps, nerves washing through her again as she shaded her eyes with her hand, scanning the crowd for the unknown man who was to be her husband. 

The platform was bustling and loud and once Sansa stepped down into it she felt lost, the sudden rush of people pushing and milling around her overwhelming her already tenuous emotional state. She hugged her bag to her waist and struggled through the throng, hoping to reach the station office and a bench to catch her breath and collect herself. 

“Sansa Stark?” The voice was dark and raspy and she shivered a little even though the sun beat down on her fiercely. Spinning she tried to locate the sound, a gasp forcing itself from her throat when she saw a man who was parting the crowds as he moved straight towards her. 

He was the tallest man she had ever seen, with broad muscular shoulders that merged with an equally wide chest and arms that bulged against the worn fabric of his shirt. The rest of his clothes were as plain and shabby as his shirt, showing signs of haphazard patching and his boots were scarred and dirty. When her eyes finally reached his face, she felt her lips pull into a frown. He wore a wide brimmed hat that shadowing most of his face and long dark hair swinging forward to cover the rest. 

She could just make out bearded, round curve of his chin and full lips pulled into a frown of their own as he strode nearer. When he finally stood before her, both of them oblivious of the grumbling crowds passing around them, her eyes went wide as saucers when she tilted her head back and looked up, up, up into his face. 

_That was why he never wrote of his appearance._ She mused, struggling to remember her manners and not stare at the horrific scars marring his face. 

The right half of his face was a twisted web of damaged skin, some of it shiny and pink in the way scars could be, but still angry and quite grotesque. It covered part of his forehead, narrowly missing his eye and leaving a heavy mass of scar tissue where his eyebrow should have been. The scarring wrapped around the side of his head, nearly fusing his ear with his skull, and left his dark hair sparse and patchy there. His eyes though, were a cool grey with a hint of silver and for all his fierce expression and formidable appearance, his eyes betrayed the loneliness he felt and the rejection he expected. 

Sansa was unprepared for the rush of empathy she felt for this stranger before her. She too was alone in this world, her parents and siblings either dead or scattered to the winds and she had just traveled nearly the full length of the country to marry someone she’d never met. The vulnerability she felt was mirrored in this big man’s expressive eyes. And as uncomfortable as it made her, she didn’t have any other options but to trust him and it helped that he seemed as perturbed as her. But before she could utter a word, he spoke again, rough and coarse and _sad_. 

“I’ll go buy you a ticket home.” His voice was heavy and bitter as he yanked her bag out of her hands and turned away without another word. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks, this weekend got away from me. I had trunk or treat, my neighbors 75th birthday party and then we decided to start painting our house, sooooo yeah. Anyway, this chapter was supposed to be about the same length as the last, but it got away from me and I couldn't section it up without it being weird and choppy, so you get this monstrosity.
> 
> And ya'll (ugh when you type ya'll w/out thinking, that is a sign you've been in the south too long), I hope this lives up to your expectations, because I still don't know what I'm doing.
> 
> Kudos and comments! Leave 'em if you liked it and holler at me if you see any mistakes.

Startled, Sansa froze, considering it for just a moment as a new wave insecurity and doubt swept over her, but then determination she didn’t know she possessed surged forward her and she rushed after him. 

“Mr. Clegane! Mr. Clegane, please wait.” Sansa stumbled, tripping over her skirts and a loose board, crying out when she nearly fell. Hard hands suddenly gripped her forearms and jerked her upright, placing her roughly on her feet again. Sansa fought to control her racing pulse as she regained her balance, silently cursing the blush she knew stained her cheeks. “Thank you, sir.” 

“I’m no sir.” He growled, releasing her and quickly stepping back like he had been burned by the contact. If possible, his frown seemed to deepen and a fanciful part of Sansa suggested that perhaps frowning was so ingrained that it was all he knew how to do. Shaking her head and gathering her wayward thoughts, Sansa straightened her back and spoke firmly, somehow managing to steady her voice enough that it masked the anxiety she felt. 

“Why would you buy me a ticket home? I am here to be your wife Mr. Clegane. Have you changed your mind? A-am I displeasing?” Both her body and voice quavered a little at the end, unnerved by the swift blackening of his grey eyes and the sudden ferocity of his expression. Despite the fact that half of his face was disfigured and responded slower than the undamaged side, it was still wildly expression and she had no doubt as to what he was feeling. She could easily see the worried tension in his shoulders and frustrated grimace twisting his lips. 

“No.” He grunted, rubbing a rough hand across his chin. “You’re not displeasing to _me_.” She waited hesitantly, still confused, still unsure what had caused his outburst, but also oddly certain. Maybe it was naive, but she felt safe standing next to him, even though she was surrounded by a bustling crowd, in a strange town. They might be strangers, but some intrinsic part of her recognized that he would never hurt her, nor let anyone else do so either. “You’re not the first to answer my advertisement.” 

His admission came in a mumbled rush, head turned to the side and jaw furiously clenched, muscle fluttering rapidly in his cheek. She could see a hint of pink under his tanned skin and patchy beard, the faint color even gracing the top of his ear. Sansa very nearly stepped closer to him, wanting to touch his arm and offer comfort, but she forced herself to stand still, knowing that if she interrupted him he wouldn’t continue. 

“There were two others who came out and they both went back home the same day. It was for the best. Too damn soft anyway.” She met his stern grey eyes as calmly as she could, feeling it like a physical touch as they slid over her form. “I need someone who can work and pull their weight. What do you know of hard labor?” 

His sneer couldn’t have been more obvious if he had reached out shoved her away with one of his meaty hands. Steeling herself, Sansa held out her hand, palm up, tilting her chin sharply in a silent challenge. She was a Stark after all and this was one fight she couldn’t afford to back down from. He eyed her skeptically for a moment, eyes searching her face before reaching out, his fingers carefully closing around her wrist. 

She bit back a gasp when their skin connected, surprised by the way her entire arm tingled at the seemingly innocent touch. His hands were big and callused, but surprisingly gentle as he engulfed her own, turning it this way and that to examine it. She knew what he’d see. Despite her fine walking gown -though two seasons out of date- and the rich wool of her cloak, and silk ribbon in her hat, her hands were as calloused as his. Her knuckles were rough from years of washing dishes in hot soapy water and her nails were pared back to be short and practical. The past few years had been hard on her family, requiring everyone to pitch in, demanding she trade her once coveted station as a delicate lady to that of a serving girl. And she had done it gladly, giving nearly all her earnings to prop up their name, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough, they had still lost it all. 

“Do I frighten you?” His voice was as gentle as his touch and it amazed her that someone so big and intimidating could also be so compassionate. When she tilted her head up to meet his gaze she was taken aback to feel tears clinging to her lashes and she wiped at them hastily with her free hand. 

“No. No you don’t. I was just thinking about my family.” 

“It’s not too late to go back to them.” Sandor’s voice was sympathetic this time, as he stared down at her, still holding her bag in his free hand. Sniffing and laughing self-consciously, Sansa stepped next to his large frame and tucked her arm into his, ignoring the way he flinched against her. 

“Actually, it is too late, but that’s not the point. The point Mr. Clegane, is that you need a wife and contrary to my appearance I am quite hardworking. I’ve a fair hand with a needle and I can cook some, as long as you like dessert. I might not know everything you required, but I am willing to learn if you’re willing to teach me-” She faltered when she realized that that sounded far more provocative than she meant it to. “T-That is to say, I mean-”

To her relief Sandor snorted and started walking, cautiously guiding her further into town. 

“I know what you meant Little Bird. This way, mind the horse shit.” She stepped around the aforementioned pile, noting how she liked his voice like that -warm and amused- even if it was at her expense. 

“Where are we headed?” He raised his remaining eyebrow and quirked his lips into what she realized was a smile. She returned it tentatively, blushing again when he quickly jerked his eyes away and cleared his throat gruffly. 

“The church. You still mean to marry me, don’t you girl?” 

“Oh!” She exclaimed, clutching at his sleeve. “I didn’t realize it would be so soon.” 

“I live half a day’s ride from town and can’t take the time to come back for another month or so.” At her inquisitive expression he elaborated, “I have some late foals about to drop and can’t be away in case something goes wrong. That means we’d be living alone together for some time. I might not give a damn what the townsfolk thinks of me, but I’ll not having them thinking bad of you.” 

“Would they gossip?” 

“Like damn magpies.” His face so chagrined that she laughed, making his expression turn sheepish. “Can’t you see them now? Wondering what the pretty little lady bird is doing with the scarred old hound?” 

Now that he had mentioned it she could feel eyes on them and after a surreptitious glance around she noticed people staring; some were blatant, pointing openly while others were more furtive, hiding whispers behind hands. It made her skin prickle, to be the center of such unwelcome and uncharitable gossip, and when she reconsidered Sandor’s self-deprecation it made a furious anger pool in her belly, making her skin heat in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. Straightening her back and holding her head high Sansa stepped closer to Sandor, carefully lifting her skirts like the lady she once had been. Just a lady out for an afternoon stroll with her beau, not whatever else it was the townsfolk were muttering about with narrowed eyes. 

“The nerve of them.” She whispered crossly, as they turned off the main street and headed towards the edge of town. He snorted softly again and she cast a quick glance at him, happy to see that he looked entertained and pleased with her actions. 

“Something get your feathers all ruffled Little Bird?” 

“I don’t know you from Adam Mr.- Sandor.” She corrected herself, testing the feel of his name on her lips. “We are to be married after all. Anyway, it is rude of them to gossip so meanly about us. They don’t know me and I suspect they don’t really know you either and we are both undeserving of their venom.” 

“Not everyone is as polite as you, not me, that’s for sure.” He warned gruffly, but she cut off whatever else he might have said with a delighted gasp. The church had just come into view, quaint and small, but pretty. White clapboard with real glass windows -a rarity out here if she had to guess- and pretty pink rose bushes on either side of the steps to the front door. 

“It’s lovely!” She beamed at Sandor, charmed by how the big man blushed awkwardly under her praise. 

“Well it’s where people get married.” He grunted, guiding her forwards again. For one heartbeat she felt a wave of melancholy steal over her. It was her wedding day and instead of a white gown she wore a wrinkled dove gray travel dress and instead of being surrounded by family it would be strangers that witnessed their union. She was dusty and unkempt and she didn’t even have flowers. 

When she lamented that fact to Sandor, he paused midway on the stairs and quietly let go of her arm to lean over the railing. His body blocked her view, but when he spun back around he held a single cheerful rose, the small bloom and slender stem dwarfed by his hand. Speechless, she watched as he carefully sliced off the thorns with a knife he had pulled from his trouser pocket and then thrust the flower at her. 

“Here. And you look fine Sansa.” 

_Fine._

Not a word she would ordinarily associate with a compliment, but his eyes were sincere and it made her forget about her battered coiffure and focus on the heat of his hand against her back and the simple rose offered out of concern for her happiness. Their story might not have the most auspicious of beginnings, but as they stepped into the shadowy church, Sansa was certain that they could have an ending worth telling, if she was brave enough to make it so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I want to add that you guys are amaze-balls. Seriously. I was completely blown away by your overwhelming excitement and support for my first chapter and that is the reason I ultimately decided to continue writing this story. So never, ever, underestimate your power as readers my friends!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It really did seem like a lifetime ago since she’d uttered those two little words that had turned her from Stark to Clegane and now here she was approaching her new home. It was honestly a little terrifying, but thrilling too, because marrying Sandor had been the easy part, what lie before her was far more intimidating. This place and her husband were huge and wild and drastically different from her tidy city life, but it was a challenge she faced with determination."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are welcomed so leave 'em if you liked it! And holler if you see any mistakes.
> 
> Forgive meeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! I got caught up in the end of my semester, it's my first semester back in years and I'm nearly a decade older than all my classmates and it's thrown me for a bit of a loop. Buuut finals are over, grades are in and here I am with a new chapter! Hope if lives up to your expectations.

The ride back to Sandor’s ranch was silent except for the rattle of the wagon and the steady thud of hooves stirring up dust around them. The lady in Sansa demanded she make conversation, polite small talk to fill the slightly awkward, nervous air around them, but she was too preoccupied to even try, her fingers picking relentlessly at a loose thread in her skirt. Stifling a heavy sigh, she stole a quick glance at the man next to her, _her husband_.

Their wedding had been quick and simple, but there was something reassuring in the way their voices had been firm and sure, hands clasped carefully together as they said their vows. She had been pleasantly surprised when he had slipped a ring on her finger, even more pleased when it had fit perfectly. Tilting her hand, she admired the way the sun caught the small gems, how it looked at home on her slender finger. 

“Do you like it?” He grunted, twitching the reins minutely before resting his wrists back on his knees. She chanced another furtive glance at Sandor’s rugged profile to find his eyes set resolutely forward and his hat effectively shadowing his face. 

“I do. I wish I had one for you.” 

“It’s not practical for the ranch. Can’t have it getting caught on things.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” She said wistfully, twisting the delicate ring on her finger slightly. “Still, it would have been nice. Where did you get this one and how did you know it would fit? What if I’d been bigger?” She teased, rapidly firing questions, delighted when his own lips quirked up. He seemed to smile so rarely that she got a secret little thrill every time she succeeded in making him do so. 

“I might have sent you back first.” He chuckled, rough and raspy. 

“Sandor!” She gasped, lightly smacking his arm in mock outrage, but inside she felt some of her anxiety ease. _She could do this._ “Don’t be rude.” He just snorted and shook his head, using his thumb to tilt the brim of his hat up a little higher, casting light on his scruffy chin. 

“It was my mother’s ring and she was small like you. Fragile. Breakable.” There was something in his voice when he spoke the last word that made her breath catch. She could sense the bitterness in him then and the sudden, guarded look about his face made her glance away, unsure how to proceed, all levity lost with his sour tone. 

“Are we almost there?” Sansa quietly asked, figuring that was a safe enough topic to broach. It felt like they’d been on the bumpy, rutted road for ages and after the hard seats and steady rocking of the train, her entire body ached. 

“Not much longer now, just over this hill and you’ll see home.” The soft pride in his voice made her lean forward as they crested the steep rise before them, following the direction of his pointed finger to the homestead before them. 

The house was larger than she imagined, brightly white washed and two stories tall with a big front porch and glass windows reflecting the setting sun. Sansa could easily imagine some potted flowers and maybe two rocking chairs by the door, for drinking coffee in the mornings as the sun rose. 

The barn stood near the house, with several large pens to one side and she could see the dark shape of horses moving about in them. It was plain and a little rough, but homey. It looked like home -her home- and her heart let out a treacherous wobble at that thought. She clutched Sandor’s sleeve, heedless of his amused expression and squeezed his big arm tight as she could. 

“It’s lovely.” She murmured eagerly, echoing her sentiment from earlier in the day, hardly breathing as Sandor clucked to the horses and started their descent. 

It really did seem like a lifetime ago since she’d uttered those two little words that had turned her from Stark to Clegane and now here she was approaching her new home. It was honestly a little terrifying, but thrilling too, because marrying Sandor had been the easy part, what lie before her was far more intimidating. This place and her husband were huge and wild and drastically different from her tidy city life, but it was a challenge she faced with determination. 

She laughed as they pulled into the yard and a large black dog -as scruffy as his master- came bounding off the porch to greet them, barking exuberantly as he ran circles around the wagon. 

“You have a dog!” She exclaimed. “I’ve never had a dog before.” 

“That’s Stranger. Whoa now.” His answers were even more brusque, but she sensed an uneasiness in him that matched her own and she chose to ignore his surliness in favor of absorbing every little detail of her new home. The wagon lurched to a stop and she watched fondly as Sandor hopped out, ruffling Stranger’s ears before walking around the horses to offer his hands up to Sansa. 

She suddenly turned shy again, a fluttering of nerves kicking up in her stomach as she slipped forward on the seat to grasp Sandor’s heavy forearms. Those big hands delicately encircled her waist and except for a slight tensing of the muscles in his arms he lifted her easily, his face an almost perfect mask of indifference. His eyes gave him away though, the spark of something unknown and heated making Sansa’s face turn rosy as she tried to meet his gaze bravely. 

When her feet hit the ground, he didn’t immediately drop his hands, they lingered on the soft dip above her hips and though she couldn’t feel the warmth of them through her many layers and stiff corset, she could feel the steady, sure weight of them. Just like she could feel the touch of his eyes on her when the unexpected intensity between them became so much that she ducked her head down, breaking the eye contact between them. 

Clearing his throat Sandor stepped back slightly and shifted his grip, placing a hand on her back to push her gently in the direction of the house. 

“I’ll bring your bags in, you head to the house. We’ll get you settled and then I have horses to attend to before it gets any later.” She nodded dumbly, body tingly in the most peculiar way, her lungs tight and face warm as she let him propel her forward, her feet taking over and moving her toward the house of their own accord. 

Once she was in the house Sansa pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, chest heaving unsteadily at the surprising onslaught of emotions rioting through her. She shook her hands out and drew herself up, taking several deep breaths while reprimanding herself sternly, 

“Stop this _right_ now, Sansa Sta- Clegane.” She giggled nervously and shook her head, moving into the room the strike the lamp. “That will take some getting used to.” She muttered, turning up the wick on the oil lamp to illuminate the room. The main door opened into the kitchen and dining room which was spartan, but clean and neat and she imagined it would be quite lovely lit by morning light. 

Chastising herself again for her woolgathering Sansa set about exploring the kitchen, looking for something to make a quick dinner with. It was late, but she was famished after her long day of traveling and meager train fare and she suspected that a man Sandor’s size would eat quite a bit of food. 

She found a whole roast chicken and a block of cheese wrapped in cloth in the surprisingly modern ice box and a half a loaf of rough bread on the sideboard. A little more searching found chipped plates and battered utensils. Sandor and Stranger walked in with her bags while she was laying out the table, but if he was surprised he didn’t show it. He just grunted in reply to her shy greeting and walked through the kitchen and into a small dark hallway, speaking over his shoulder as he started up the stairs. 

“I’ll put your things in your room, I’ll won’t be back in for another half hour or so.” 

Sansa nodded cheerfully, even though he couldn’t see it, but then his words caught up with her and she froze in confusion. 

Wait-

_Her_ room? 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaat!? Two chapters in one month? Yeah, about that. School starts next week so don't get too excited lol.  
> *I literally just fucking realized its no longer December 2017 so my initial comment doesn't apply. 2018 is off to a GREAT start.*
> 
> Kudos and comments, leave 'em if you liked it and holler if you see any mistakes. I didn't go over this like I should have in my excitement to share it with you. It's a little silly and it doesn't do much in terms of further "plot" or their relationship, but I had fun writing it. I feel like I need to add a slow burn tag to this story at the rate I'm moving them along.

In the weeks that followed they settled into somewhat of a routine. Sansa spent most of her time cleaning and mending; getting rid of dust in the forgotten nooks and crannies and patching the numerous holes in Sandor’s clothes. He reluctantly relented when she relegated a large portion of his shirts to the scrap bin and surprised her with several bolts of new cloth when she suggested she make him some new ones. She had even led few successful skirmishes against their resident hens to collect eggs, suffering only minor scratches and pecks. It was a point of pride that she made them their daily breakfast, somehow managing to get the stove to cooperate and to not burn the eggs or toast. 

It was simple fare and while she hadn’t _exactly_ lied when she had said she could cook, she may have stretched the truth a little. If Sandor noticed or minded he didn’t say, though he had taken the time to teach her how to make a proper cup of coffee, surprising her with his grumpy-natured patience when she struggled through their lesson. The kitchen had felt crowded that morning as he guided her through the steps, his thick arm brushing against her shoulder as he pointed to this or that, his deep voice chasing all coherent thoughts from her head. He had looked at her funny when he had to repeat himself a third time, but just shook his head when she had turned cherry red and scrambled to do as he bid. 

For the most part though their days were spent apart, her in the house and him out of doors, only coming in for meals and to retire once the sun had set. Sansa was determined to change that though, so once she had finished her morning chores she scooped up the basket of plain muslin cloth she intended to stitch into curtains and a kitchen chair and lugged them out onto the porch. 

Cursing softly under her breath as she tripped over her skirts, she paused and peered across the yard, biting her lip as her resolution wavered momentarily. Dust rose up from the pen next to the barn and squaring her shoulders she rearranged her awkward load and started moving towards her destination. 

By the time she reached the fence she was sweating. Sansa could practically hear her mother chastising her, _Ladies do not sweat Sansa._ , but this was no delicate perspiring in what Winterfell called summer. Her blouse clung to her back and she could feel the heated flush of exertion on her cheeks, causing sweat to trickle down her neck and the never-ending swirl of dust in the air stuck unpleasantly to her skin. 

Stranger sank to the ground in the shade, groaning as he immediately fell asleep, apparently unaffected by the warm temperature. Sansa grumbled irritably at the mutt as she arranged herself on her chair, taking a moment to fan herself vigorously with her handkerchief. 

Unbeknownst to Sansa, at that exact moment Sandor sent the horse he had been desensitizing in the middle of the pen loping away from him, guiding the beast along the fence with a flick of his training whip. The big black colt, upon seeing the fluttering white thing just beyond the fence, assumed that it was something out to kill him and spooked. He leapt sideways with a loud snort and an impressive kick of his heels, sending a shower of dirt and manure right at Sansa. 

Unprepared for the sudden outburst of the horse and the spray of filth aimed directly at her face she squealed and reared back. In her alarm, her feet became tangled in her skirt and she promptly lost her balance, flailing desperately before toppling onto her back in the dirt with an unattractive screech, skirts and petticoats tossed above her knees. 

As she struggled to right herself, coughing on the cloud of dust that had engulfed her, she became aware of Stranger barking and of a man yelling a string of wildly creative curses. It was with growing dread that she realized that the person yelling was in fact her husband and that his fury was directed squarely towards her. Shoving herself to her feet she timidly approached the fence, peering through the slats with her lower lip pinched firmly between her teeth, pulse racing in trepidation. 

Sandor was soothing the colt now, who looked rather saucy in Sansa’s uneducated opinion -not fearful- but if her husband’s stormy expression was anything to go on, she was in trouble. Attempting to beat a hasty retreat she started to step back, but Stranger woofed and Sandor’s head immediately snapped around. When their eyes met she swallowed the knot that formed in her throat and waved her fingers in his direction. Sansa nearly squeaked when his eyes turned even darker and he released the colt with one last pat before heading in her direction. 

With every purposeful, ground eating stride, her panic grew. Frantically she cast about for something, _anything_ to save her, but it was too late. Just as she was about to flee a hard hand gripped her wrist and this time she did squeak when he spun her about and roughly grasped her chin tilting it up and forcing her to meet his eyes. It was a good thing he was supporting her, because the smoldering ferocity in his silvery eyes made her knees go weak. She hadn’t thought he would hurt her, but the intensity and anger he was displaying now sent a shiver of fear down her spine. 

“What the devil do you think you were doing girl?” She trembled at his snarl, her voice quavering as she tried to explain. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“Exactly! You didn’t think, you foolish chit!” He flung his hands out and she instinctively ducked, which seemed to only increase his furor. 

“I’m not going to hit you Sansa. There are men that hit women, but I’m not one of those men and I need to you to understand that. Do you understand me?” He carefully dropped a hand to her shoulder, replacing the other on her chin, eyes sincere and a little unnerving in their fierceness. She could feel his need for her to trust him, to believe in him and swallowing thickly, she nodded, 

“I know that.” And she did, but she was still nervous and apprehensive, and he was still annoyed, though his tone was more scornful and sarcastic now instead of livid. 

“You could get hurt out here and if it had been any other horse you could have seriously set back their training, or worse injured them when they spooked. You can’t just go running around flapping your hands like a damn chicken!” 

In an instant Sansa’s contrition vanished to be replaced with a righteous indignation of her own. Sharply she yanked her chin from his hand and twisted from his grasp, stomping her foot angrily. 

“I was _not_ flapping my hands like a chicken! I was trying to cool off!” 

“It’s fucking hot! Get used to it.” Sandor used his superior height to loom over her, attempting to intimidate with his physical size and vulgar tongue, eyes flashing with anger again, but she was made of sterner stuff and her blood was surging hot in her veins. Vexed, she met his temper with her own, tossing back her simple braid and planting her hands on her hips, pulling herself up as straight as she could. 

“You get used to it!” She fired back smartly, but Sandor’s brow wrinkled, and he frowned, deflating slightly in his confusion. 

“I am used to it, I’ve lived in this area my whole life.” 

“I didn’t mean the weather!” Sansa’s frustration made her shrill, her face going blotchy and pinched in irritation. “I meant me being out here. I can’t spend all my days cooped up in the house Sandor. I just wanted to see what you do while doing some of my own work, that’s all.” The words themselves were fairly reasonable, but her tone was biting, however instead of angering Sandor he just grinned, revealing straight white teeth and an amused smile. 

“Little Bird’s got some claws on her then.” He chuckled, pushing his hat back and rubbing at his face ruefully. Just as quickly as it had come, her anger was replaced with embarrassment and awkwardness. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She sniffed, wiping her dirty hands on her equally messed skirt, succeeding in only smearing more muck on both. His answering snort was low and warm, and Sansa peeked at him from under her lashes, fighting a smile of her own. 

“So, you want to see me work then?” Sansa was momentarily distracted from his simple question when he folded his brawny arms across his equally broad chest. His sleeves were rolled up past the elbow and she was curiously intrigued by the amount of coarse hair that coated the sun browned limb. The hair was dark, and his skin was tan, and she was now personally acquainted with a fraction of the strength one of his arms possessed. “Sansa?” 

“Um, yes. I would. The house is mostly in order now and I’d like to spend a little time outside. A-and with you, if that’s alright. I’d help too, but you’d have to show me what to do.” 

If she hadn’t been staring at him so closely, she would have missed the way his lips softened a little and how his eyes went from amused to warm and affectionate. It sent an excited thrill straight down to her toes and it was all she could do to stop from beaming at him like a simpleton. Sansa wasn’t foolish enough to think that all arranged marriages such as theirs ended in love, or even happiness, and plenty ended in tears, but ever since their shaky first meeting she had felt a certainty that this man was meant for her. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be easy, they both had tempers and she was still sleeping in a separate room, but now she had irrefutable proof that Sandor felt it too. 

“I guess that’d be fine.” 

Buoyed by his gruff response Sansa let some of her excitement shine through, grinning up at him in what she hoped was a coquettish fashion. For a moment she missed Margaery, her bold and fearless roommate who would have known just how to entice Sandor further. Still, it seemed to work because his face went rosy under his scruffy beard and he stumbled over his words. 

“You can help me groom Black.” Sansa snorted as she followed him to the gate, waiting as Sandor fastened a rope to the contraption around the horse’s head and led him into the barn, knotting the rope through a ring in the wall. 

“ _That’s_ his name? Poor thing, no wonder he’s acting out.” 

“His name is fine, and he wasn’t acting out. _Someone_ scared the shit out of him.” Sansa’s peal of laughter made the horse toss his head again and Sandor raised his good eyebrow pointedly. Stifling her giggles, she took the brush he handed her and grinned unrepentantly. 

“Can I name him?” 

“He already has a name and like this,” Her breath caught when his big hand engulfed hers, the unexpected contact making her skin feel alive and tingly, bursting with an excess of energy. Sansa focused intently on the glide of her brush of Black’s coat, embarrassed by the overwhelming, clamoring urge to touch the man standing so close to her. It seemed shameful and unladylike to have a want -a _need_ \- like that. 

She was appalled by her wantonness and confused by her own body, which was betraying her with its unruliness. Sandor seemed unaware of her inner turmoil and riotous body, scrutinizing her movements for a moment longer before turning back to the horse with a satisfied grunt. In the quiet that followed Sansa was able to suppress her scandalous desires and turn her attention instead to her feelings of safety and hope, two things she thought she would never feel again. 

“This isn’t so bad now is it?” She teased gently, bumping Sandor’s thigh with her hip, please when he smiled softly down at her. 

“Not so bad at all.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so sorry. Please forgive me for my extenuating absence, I have been insanely busy with school and life, but I did say I was continuing this and I am. Honestly it will probably take me a year+ to finish this, no joke. I'm not entirely happy with the ending to this chapter, but felt you guys deserved it so here it is!
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day, so holler at me!

_Sandor:_

She was driving him insane. Sandor sat in the darkened corner of the barn, chewing absently on a piece of straw and rubbing Stranger’s ears as he contemplated his wife. His beautiful, sweet, conundrum of a wife. 

It had been four months since their sudden marriage and while it had been almost painfully awkward in the beginning they had settled into a steady routine of sorts. One he was loath to disrupt, he was surprised to find that he enjoyed having her around. She made him realize just how lonely his world had been before her. They were still hesitant and careful around each other, Sandor clumsy and tongue-tied around her beauty and the bright little smile she always gave him when their eyes met. Sansa rarely seemed ill at ease, maybe a touch shy in the early days, but ever since that fateful day in the barn when her natural grace had turned fierce and sharp she had relaxed around him. 

If Sandor had found her alluring before -ever since she had stepped of the train really- it was her snappy temper that stirred his heart and his blood. It made him want to gather her in his arms and do things to her that a man like him shouldn’t ever have the right to. He was big and rough and old, she was sunshine, warmth, and joy. A deep part of him was afraid his fumbling would tarnish that, would turn her sweet smiles to tears. But, that was why she was driving him mad. 

That day in the barn had seemed to tip some sort of invisible scale between them. He had always been aware of her as a woman, it was impossible not to be with her tightly nipped waist and slim hips, but now it was as if she had become aware of him as well. Which was absurd. Sandor scoffed, making Stranger huff too, the dog nudging his meaty hand to encourage it to move again. 

Whatever lingering hesitation had been between them had rapidly dissolved with Sansa’s newfound assurance. She would lean heavily against his arm when she served him his dinner, pressing the soft curve of her breasts into him, tilting her head to expose the pale lightly freckled line of her neck, daring him to yank her into his lap and sink his teeth into the offered flesh. In the evenings she had taken to slipping back downstairs in her thin nightgown for a glass of water, the candle she held leaving nothing to his imagination. Her white cotton floor length gown was practical and plain, but it bore pale pink ribbons down the front and Sandor’s hands itched to lay her back and undo them one by one, kissing the soft skin he knew it would expose. 

It was instances like those, that had him hiding in the barn from his own wife. A virginal slip of a girl whose innocent actions were making him perilously close to losing his control. However, there was a suspicious voice in the back of his head that made him wonder if her behavior was as innocent as she led on. _No, that’s hogwash_ Sandor thought, rubbing a thoughtful hand over his chin. Or was it? These “incidents” did seem to be happening with almost frightening frequency. 

Why just last night she had wriggled closer to him than seemed possible while on the settee, pressing her side firmly against his and asked breathlessly what he thought of her stitches. She had shoved a scrap of something or other under his nose and he must have mumbled something satisfactory, because she beamed at him and deposited a quick kiss to his scarred cheek. It was so close to his lips that if he had turned his head just a fraction they would have been kissing. That couldn’t have been an accident. 

_What was the little fool up to?_ He wondered, shoving himself to his feet and frowning fiercely was he headed towards the house with a determined stride. There was only one way to find out. 

_Sansa:_

Meanwhile, oblivious to Sandor’s inner turmoil, Sansa was engaged in a struggle of her own. 

“Damn it!” She yelped, yanking back the loaf of bread from the oven and slamming it onto the counter next to her. It had been one of _those_ days. A type of day where she had gotten stung by a wasp while working in the garden and then she’d gotten a sliver while chopping kindling to start the stove to make bread. Plus, it was bread day and _of course_ it would fall on the hottest day of the month. All the windows in the house were open, but only a pitiful excuse for a breeze tickled the curtains. 

She was hot, sticky and frazzled and this was the third time she’d burned her damn arm on the damn stove. Thankfully that was the last loaf and dinner was cold today, so with the bread done she quickly adjusted the damper on the stove and sagged against the counter. 

Sweat trickled unpleasantly between her breasts and down her back, sticking her already wet chemise further to her skin. Dust clung to her skirts and hair and made her skin crawl. Sansa felt tired, sore, hot, and irritable. Standing by the window she peered outside and spied the metal trough Sandor had propped up against the garden shed. They used it for their baths and though the heating and filling of it took forever, Sansa was suddenly very grateful for the deep tub. 

Furtively she glanced around and grinned as an idea came over her. It was so hot there was no need to heat the water and the tub was hidden from view by the shed and house on two sides and the towering row of sunflowers on the third side provided modest enough cover. She felt a prick of apprehension, but the lure of cool water was too much to resist. 

Determined, Sansa skipped upstairs and pulled out her precious bar of lemon oil scented soap, clothes, and some wash rags before making her way outside. Carefully draping her clean things over the fence, she righted the tub with a grunt and began to fill it from the well. The water was clean and cold and by the time she was done she was panting and her arms ached, but it was worth it. She quickly shed her clothes, tossing the dirty ones into a haphazard pile which was quite unlike her, but this whole adventure was unlike her. Here it was, broad daylight and she stood in a sweat soaked chemise that she was sure left _nothing_ to the imagination. Instead of feeling ashamed, she felt free and a little wild. Nervous, yes, but also brave, which surprised her. Maybe Sandor and this place was rubbing off on her. 

Tossing her plait over her shoulder she shucked off her chemise with a carefree laugh and dipped a cloth into the bucket of water she had reserved and vigorously scrubbed off the days grime. She didn’t see the point in dirtying her bath with her own filth. 

Sansa braced her hands on either side of the trough and carefully lowered herself in, the shock of the cold water drawing a gasp and gleeful shriek from her. Her dry itching skin was instantly soothed, pebbling deliciously under the icy cool. Humming a jaunty tune that Theon has shamelessly taught them she lathered up a luxurious amount of soap onto her and drug it across her skin, ignoring the pleasant tingle that followed. It reminded her too much of how Sandor made her feel and that was a little too heavy for her to contemplate right now. 

Regardless, the mere thought of him made her foolish little mind fixate and as she washed every inch of her body her brained mulled over their conundrum. And what a conundrum it was she lamented with a frown. It appeared the man was completely oblivious to her clumsy attempts to woo him. Sansa snorted at that. Here she was attempting -and failing- to woo her own husband. A man who wouldn’t even sleep in her bed, let alone anything else. Not that she remotely thought she was ready for _that_ , but still. Her attraction to him was unexpected, but not unwelcome. 

It was a little scary and incredibly overwhelming, but he made her feel things. His physical size was naturally intimidating, but it also made her feel delicate and safe and breathless. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the nervous flutter that coursed through her when he gave her that amused smirk when she did something ridiculous. She even appreciated his scars, because she knew the man underneath, knew he had been shaped by them and that despite them he was still a good man. 

But nonetheless, they were still strangers and she’d never even kissed a man, not really. There had been Joffrey a bully neighborhood boy who had pushed her against the side of her house and pressed his tongue into her mouth when they were fourteen. She had kneed him in the balls and made him cry. 

Other than that, her experience with men was next to nothing. Nothing but the butterflies she felt when she stood next to Sandor on the landing, so close she could feel the heat of him and smell his natural scent. Sweat and horse and dust, but it was pleasant, comforting even while it drove her to distraction. But what did it even matter, when she couldn’t seem to suss out whether or not he returned her attraction. And what was she supposed to do if he did? 

She was inexperienced and nervous and painfully shy. How did it even work? What was she supposed to do? Sansa wished desperately she had someone to turn to for advice, but this was her problem and somehow, she was going to have to figure out how to alter the course of their marriage. 

Settling back into the water she idly strummed her fingers against the side of the tub and contemplated her options. If subtly was lost on him then maybe she needed a more direct approach. Though she didn’t know how much more direct she could be. She had been practically throwing herself into his lap at dinner and putting on her sheerest nightgown had taken every ounce of courage she possessed. Would talking to him work? Immediately she discarded that thought, _there was no way she was that brave_. What she needed was a plausible reason for her to wind up in his bed and an equally plausible reason for him to stay. Basking in the sun and in her determination, Sansa began to devise her newest plan of attack. 

_Sandor:_

Sandor pushed open the door to the house and was surprised to find it empty, save for the rich scent of bread cooling by the stove. For all her poor cooking, baking was one thing she did well as fact Sandor’s waistline could attest to. Usually Sansa was bustling around the house doing something or other, beaming at him whenever he came in, but this afternoon it was eerily silent. Stranger didn’t seem worried, the scraggly mutt just curled underneath the table and fell asleep again, much to Sandor’s disgust. 

“Sansa?” He rasped, but nothing answered him. Just as he was about to head back outside he heard a faint splash and humming coming from the back of the house. Sansa must be doing laundry, though that was odd because it was her baking day. Shrugging he moved towards the rear of the house, pushing open the door and stepping into the backyard without looking. The slam of the door drew a surprised shriek from Sansa, the noise immediately drawing his eyes. 

There was a part of Sandor that couldn’t full believe, let alone comprehend what he was seeing. Sansa was naked as a jaybird, neck deep in a bathing tub full of clear, clear water. She may have draw her bent legs up and covered her chest with her arms, but it hid nothing. Every delicious detail was seared into his brain, onto his skin. The silky flow of her hair in the water, the pearly skin, the hardened nipples. All of it permanently etched upon his memory. And it was as if the mere -though nothing about her was insignificant- sight of her had left him deaf and dumb and frozen. 

He could see her lips moving furiously, her eyes snapping with embarrassment and ire, but all he heard was a sharp ringing in his ears and the rush of blood as it drained from his upper extremities to a much lower location. It took a sopping wet cloth to the face to make him snap out of his reverie. In a sudden flurry of activity, he flinched, slammed his eyes shut and whipped around, stammering out an apology. 

“S-sorry! What the hell are you doing Sansa?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing!” She practically shrieked. He could hear the splashing of water and chanced a peek over his shoulder, which earned him another outraged screech and a glimpse of creamy back and rounded ass, water sluicing down both. “Turn around!!” 

“What?” He claimed innocently. “I thought you were covered.” 

“There, I’m decent.” He slowly turned, struggling to contain his smile. She was most definitely not decent. She had pulled on her dress, the fine cloth clinging seductively to her curves, hiding nothing from his imagination. Her wet hair stuck to her back and her color was high as she glared at him, futilely trying to cover herself with her dirty clothes. 

“What were you doing?” He asked again, praying she didn’t notice the straining bulge in his trousers. Sandor attempted to keep his eyes on hers, ignoring the heave of her chest as she fidgeted nervously before him. 

“I was bathing! It was hot, and I didn’t think you’d be in so soon.” She slowly began to sidle to the back door, looking anywhere but at him. 

“It’s fine girl, just let me know next time and I won’t come barging out here like I did.” Maybe next time she’d invite him to join, _not likely_ he grumbled to himself. “Though you did look mighty tempting.” She gasped and he stammered, his cheeks flaming at his slip. “I-I mean the water! Your idea, the water!” But there was something about the flush in her cheeks, the way she bit her full lip and subconsciously straightened her back, angling the curve of her breasts towards him. Her nipples had peaked again, and something bewildering niggled in the back of his mind. 

She couldn’t be- no, it was impossible. Unless he was sorely mistaken, his pretty Little Bird seemed intrigued by the idea. So maybe he hadn’t been imagining things, maybe those “accidents” weren’t accidents after all. But, how could a sweet girl like her want an old dog like him? With his scars and his size most women were afraid of him, but she had never been. Curious, Sandor sent her what he hoped was a charming grin, 

“Maybe next time I’ll join you.” Her pretty flush turned bright and blotchy and she stammered wordlessly, gaping a bit like a fish before whirling and fleeing, but not before he saw the way her thighs shifted together restlessly. As she disappeared into the house he threw his head back and laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I appreciate each and every one of you sticking with this story and me! Thank you! XOXOXO


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